


Me, Myself & The Devil

by fuckyeahlucifersupernatural



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Samifer Week 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-13
Packaged: 2017-11-16 05:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That is how the Cage functioned. It was living with your worst enemy: yourself. But never before has he seen a soul break so quickly from its own sorrow."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Me, Myself & The Devil

**Author's Note:**

> **  
>  Prompt from Anon:   
>  **   
>  Lucifer/Sam W. "Still my little bitch" 
> 
>  
> 
> _Song in text: Lovefool by The Cardigans_  
>   
> 
> _“I’ve got a bad disease, up from my brain is where I bleed._  
>  _Insanity it seems, it’s got me by my soul to squeeze..._    
>  _The angels in my dream, yeah, it turned to demons of greed..”_  
>   
> 
> **Soul To Squeeze by Red Hot Chili Peppers**
> 
> **Disclaimer:** This is fan-run and this writer is not officially affiliated with the CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., and other official affiliates tied to the TV Show "Supernatural." This user does not claim ownership to the official content of Supernatural and does not seek profit off of the work produced presently. Plagiarism of this current story will not be tolerated and will be reported following AO3's terms of service. The stories, additional characters I create, are mine. This story was not created for profit. Making profit is deemed copyright infringement unless sanctioned by copyright holders (i.e. CW Network, Kripke Enterprises, Warner Bros., etc.). Copyright infringement can range from paying a fine to actual jail time. Please do not claim this story as yours! Please do not sell this story! Please do not reproduce this story! All violators will be reported and dealt with severely! 

Sam Winchester was pinned against the wall, a cool-to-the-touch body rocking against his bare frame. Sam squirms, but he’s answered with domineering lips pressing into his mouth, tongue forcing itself inside to tickle and lick the roof of his mouth. Sam’s kissing a temperamental time bomb. One minute he’s being seduced, the next he’s being brutally beaten into a bloody pulp. His bipolar abuser who is stroking him with his gloved fingers, leather making his nerves sing in four-part harmony, has pulled him into a twisted routine. Sam moans and pushes into the hand, letting him slip from sanity to indulge in this pleasure. He has to before it turns for the worst -- it always does. 

The Cage is a nightmare. Sam can’t keep anything straight. Time is difficult to keep and Lucifer is his biggest problem in the Cage, not Michael. Lucifer slipped off of him, bare-chested and awful music blaring somewhere. That should have been a sign that the Devil was in a playful mood. _“Lately I have desperately pondered,”_ he sung along with the song, fingers reaching out to grip Sam’s hair, yanking him down onto his knees, _“Spent my nights awake and I wonder...”_ Sam’s knees sink and Lucifer pulls Sam closer to the zipper of his pants in expectance. 

Sam feels apprehensive as he reaches out to undo the button and the zipper to the pants, earning a hand affectionately ruffling his hair like a dog. 

_“What I could have done in another way to make you stay!”_

Sam pulls down Lucifer’s pants, already pulling his head away as if he was finished. A yelp leaves his lips when he’s backhanded, teeth clamping down on his tongue, earning blood pooling in his mouth. The Devil merely bent down to place an icy kiss on his red cheek, fingers gliding across his neck. Lucifer lets fingertips rest on the hollow of his neck, wrist bent with a dramatic flair before his wrist twisted away in time with the music. Leather fingers flicked out, shaking his head of blond hair splattered with blood from the day before, _“So I cry, I pray and I beg. Love me, love me -- say that you love me.”_

A leather finger curls at Sam, the Winchester working his jaw as he shifts closer. _“Fool me, fool me -- go on and fool me!”_ The finger pushes his chin upward, shaking and swinging hips moving down before a cold mouth is pressing against his again. Sam knows it’s going to go south from here. How is the question. God, Sam’s just tired of this. He just wants to curl into a ball and sleep in peace. 

Fingers flicked at Sam, making a gesture at his mouth, crooning out, “Open your mouth for me.” Sam gave a trembling exhale, physically and mentally exhausted at this nonstop torture. Nothing was the same. Lucifer was brimming with creative ideas whether it’s burning every portion of his skin off to rubbing salt into his bleeding flesh to pulling every tooth in his mouth out without painkillers. Gingerly he opened his mouth, feeling leather fingers push his jaws even wider apart. _“I don’t care ‘bout anything but you,”_ he sung softly, gripping his filled cock, he laid the tip on Sam’s tongue. 

Sam’s done this before. This isn’t the first time and if anything, Lucifer exploits his authority down in the Cage. At first Lucifer was stoic and cold, sneering and snarling in disbelief at the predicament he was in once again. Than out of nowhere this came along, all manic grins and snide comments. 

“ _Love me, love me_ \-- good boy. Just like that.” 

Slowly Lucifer slides in and out of his mouth, making sure not to go too deep. Sam knows the rules. If he acts enthusiastic from the start, Lucifer will let him off easy. But it’s so hard to pretend each and every day. Sam, nonetheless, eagerly sucks on the length in his mouth, only tasting his own blood that’s been sitting in his mouth from before. Lucifer is tasteless and scentless. It bewilders him but it doesn’t stop Sam from moaning heartily, earning a scratch on the back of his head in affection. 

A part of him likes it when Lucifer is like this. When he’s scratching at the back of his head to rubbing at the back of his thighs (once he got a back rub). Lucifer will murmur to him how much he loves him and how he’s Lucifer’s and only his. It’s a tiny and toxic comfort, a rarity to come out of Lucifer. Sam thinks it’s why he tolerates it despite how much he wants it all to stop. The small words and pats on the head makes him relieved and wanted, but they’re so quickly snuffed. Something will switch in Lucifer and he’ll change into a psychotic show of bloodlust and sick humor. 

Fingers curled into his hair, gripping it tight as hips began to pick up into a steady cant. Sam’s hand rose up, planting themselves on Lucifer’s upper thighs, trying to provide some semblance of a buffer. But Lucifer would have nothing of it, a hand slipping off his skull to slap at one of his hands. It was happening. Sam balled his hands into fists, closing his eyes and doing his best not to choke on the cock being shoved down his throat now. It’s abusing and misusing his gag reflex, choking and feeling saliva slipping out the confines of his mouth. The Winchester’s nose feels battered, Lucifer’s pelvis ramming into it with each thrust, a strangled cry lost somewhere in the base of his throat. 

Sam could feel that sensation of about to throw up rising and as if anticipating it, a leathered hand pushed him off, Sam barely turning his head in time to heave. Heaving out water and something disgustingly congealed like blood, hands kept him up, arms trembling. The Winchester felt raw and exposed, and he knew this was far from over. Lucifer was a thinker. Sat about in his corner staring at the wall for hours on end before jumping to his feet with an orchestrated plan to crush him written and ready for print.

“Y-Yes,” Sam choked, voice hoarse and abused. 

Lucifer blinked down at the Winchester, looking quizzical. “Yes, what?” 

“Yes,” he swallowed, forcing his head to look up at the blond who looks torn between bursting into hysterical laughter and giving a pitying look. “T-To you. Yes...to you,” he managed to exhale out, rising a shaky hand to wipe his mouth. 

Lucifer sighed and folded his arms across his bare chest, lips pursing into a thin line of pink. “Sam. I’m disappointed in you,” he explained with a deploring look slipping on his features, “I’m already in you.” Lucifer taps his head. Wagging his finger, he grinned and tutted, “No need to ask for permission anymore.” 

Sam closed his eyes, giving a shaky inhale, blurting out a poor semblance of a _please_ out of his mouth. 

The blond archangel tilted his head, brows knitting together in a mock semblance of worry, but lips twitched into a menacing smirk. “Sam. My heart...it breaks for you. You have endured so much and even in death, does it endure,” Lucifer sighed, a hand reaching out to push Sam’s chin up so he could see his face, “But two wrongs, don’t make a right.” Sam furrowed his brows, weakly forcing his eyes to stay open. Those words...he heard them before and it wasn’t from Lucifer. Eyes fluttered, struggling to make sense of the source of those words. 

The room shifted, lights flickering in a heated panic, causing the standing Devil to flicker. A fist hit Sam hard out of nowhere and Sam saw flashes of light burning across the right section of his vision, black coating his world. Being punched by an archangel felt like he got mowed down by a train, jaw feeling broken, if not shattered. There was an awful cry filling the room. A disgusting push of a wail and Sam wanted to clamp his hands over his ears to make it stop. It was only when he had Lucifer shushing him, finger pressed against his lips sardonically, did the Winchester realize it was him. 

He’s the one crying hysterically. 

“Shh, Sam. Might wake up Adam, and we’d hate for him to get involved,” Lucifer smiled, lips pulling back to reveal those too-bright-of-a-white teeth. Sam felt sick to his stomach at the threat, eyes blindly trying to find his younger sibling, but Adam was not to be found. Not even Michael was present. Everything morphed and shifted into this dank setting where the walls are peeling and the muscles that made up the walls are an oozing red and rancid pink collecting gray matter. Everything was wrong. Wasn’t the Cage a bleached white? 

Even Lucifer was made up of something different. There were times when his abuser’s eyes flared gold in their clotted glory. At times he would see his father prowling after him to Jessica sitting demurely beside him. Images were always shifting and there was a faint sound of static -- consistently -- in the background of this chaos. Even now with those words that did not come from Lucifer. Whenever Sam focused too hard on Lucifer, the static grew until his skull vibrated in pain. Everything was screwy here in the Cage and Sam was slowly giving up trying to understand and make sense of this prison.

Hands were moving him and Sam found himself shoved onto his back, Lucifer’s cold frame sitting on his chest. “I understand Alastair makes your brother piss his pants just at the mere mention of his name. But there’s a reason why I wear the crown,” he cooed, Sam not even daring to open his eyes. His jaw feels ruined and he doesn’t even have the capacity to feel ashamed anymore. Only fear fills him and every time he tries to shut this hell out, he’s earned with a brutal beat down. Yesterday he felt a meathook pierce the back of his neck and shove itself through the back of his mouth, gravity pulling him further onto it. Jagged tip slowly pushing through the roof of his mouth left him screaming for hours, trying his best not to move but pain begets more pain. 

Sam prayed for death. Prayed for relief. Prayed for someone to save him, but as time passed, Lucifer overtook his existence and being. A parasite devouring him and yet he couldn’t become use to the pain. He couldn’t find that state where the body is numb. It drove him to tears but no comfort was to be found, especially not in his abuser. 

“ _Dear, I fear we’re facing a problem. You love me no longer...”_ Lucifer is singing the song again, giving a pout that made Sam’s stomach twist. Sam shuts his eyes tight.

Fingers were wiggling deep inside of him, tearing Sam from the status of his queasy stomach, a groan in pain issuing from his lips. It makes his jaw ache and eyes sting, eyes opening barely to see Lucifer in between his legs. Lucifer grins at Sam, dipping his head to bite at the left side of the Winchester’s pelvis, leather digits wet with blood thrusting into Sam. The brunette whined and struggled to relax, but his body was in a constant state of panic, clenching tightly around the two fingers buried inside of him. Through his broken mouth did he give a harsh cry with index and middle finger pushed savagely into his prostate. Colors of purple and blue flared in his vision, leg twitching as he feels his body reacting. 

It’s unnerving that Lucifer gets a sick pleasure out of this. Would press and massage away until he’s hard against his stomach, than laugh at him. Berate him for being a ‘greedy little freak’ whether it’s with demon blood to sex. How his poor decision-making has led Sam to this very spot and it makes sense in his broken mind. He brought this upon himself and he stews in his own failures. 

Lucifer laps at the flesh of his thigh, sucking and groaning. Teeth suddenly sink into the inside of his thigh, breaking skin and jerking back, like a dog trying to pull the meat off a bone. Sam thrashes and is earned with fingers sliding out of him to grip tightly at his cock, abusive and rigid. Sam goes painfully still, stifling the scream wanting to leave, body betraying him by being plagued with violent shakes in agony. Fingers release him after a while, the older blond crawling over him, lips ruby red. Cooing at him soothingly like a doting mother.

Mouth pressed against his, feeding him the blood in his mouth from Sam’s thigh, Sam whining at the pressure placed on his jaw. Pulling back, Lucifer grinned, licking his lips. “You know I love you, Sam, hmm?” he hummed, tapping his nose. Sam merely stared, eyes wide. Lucifer frowned, giving an expectant look. “Sam. Be polite. Say something back. _Love me, love me, oh say that you love me.”_ The brunette struggled to open his mouth but all that could be done was a choked gurgle of a sound. 

“Sam, that was very sweet of you. Thank you.” 

Patting him on the cheek, Lucifer weaseled his hands underneath the Winchester to flip him over onto his stomach. Sam’s back bore scarred lacerations and deep bruising from prior events, Lucifer running his hand across the abused back. Slipping his hands down, hands grabbed a fistful of the Winchester’s backside, pushing him open. Adjusting his hips, he rubbed himself across the crack of Sam’s backside, letting his tip tease and push into his entrance every so often. Sam could only stare at the floor, swallowing thickly.

Finally Lucifer pushed in, groaning heartily at the tight warmth greeting him, greedily pressing around him. Hips pushed all the way in and Sam breathed harshly. Sam knew, somewhere, that this couldn’t be Lucifer. Lucifer didn’t do this. Didn’t talk the way he did. Didn’t press him against the ground and murmur in his ear derogatory words. It threw him off one day when Lucifer cupped his face, thrusting deeply into him, telling him that he was his ‘little bitch.’ Everything was _wrong._

Sam fought the sounds leaving him, contemplating his foul streak of luck. Lucifer chuckled and grinned from above, hips stuttering when he spilled deep inside of Sam. Fingers yanked him by the hair, murmuring something filthy into his ear that Sam was too tired to decipher. Like that Lucifer would always be gone. Would finish, hiss in his ear something foul than leave. Sam’s left bruised and broken, left to listen to his own ragged breathing. 

The archangel has been watching Sam for a long time, the form of light observing the cracking of Sam’s psyche and soul. It was battering itself. Self-deprecating and self-loathing twisting itself into something that Lucifer could not observe. Instead he would watch the Winchester harm himself, crying and screaming into the white confines of the Cage. Brows knitted together in a show of concern at the body twitching on the floor, fingers stained in blood and eyes glazed over. 

**\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -**

For days in and days out he watched in rapt curiosity before rising to his feet, finally approaching the broken hunter on the floor. Curiosity gripped him as to see what was plaguing his diseased-riddled brain. A cool hand pressing against his feverish forehead, quietly coaxing Sam in Enochian to focus on him. Grace healed the self-inflicted wounds, quietly beginning to pry into Sam and see what was occurring. That is how the Cage functioned. It was living with your worst enemy: yourself. But never before has he seen a soul break so quickly from its own sorrow. 

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


End file.
